


let my love adorn you

by princesszaf



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M, but it's mostly fluff otherwise :), just thought i'd give you a head's up!!!!, there's a lil segment with cutesy public sexy times?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 00:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8868517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesszaf/pseuds/princesszaf
Summary: They find each other after years again and it’s about time Jackson drops the big question. Everything just has to be perfect before he finally does.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enjolrasi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolrasi/gifts).



> thiiiiis is my xmas gift to livvy and :))
> 
> it's for one of our markson rp ships and we realised earlier today that they're practically markson soooo it's just a Lot of fluff (well deserved) and a segment of smut 
> 
> if u have any questions regarding this verse, lemme know! all you need to know is that they're small town soulmates who grew up together, fell in love, parted ways and found each other again :)

Jackson and Mark spend their anniversary back home.

The small, crooked roads of their lazy hometown, of memories etched into the walls, of nostalgia heavy in the air eases Jackson’s worries - he’s only nervous, hardly scared, but it’s _different_ enough now for Mark to lean over the gearshift, cup his boyfriend’s cheek with incredible softness. When Jackson takes a deep breath and looks over, Mark’s gaze is gentle too and he wants to declare his Proclamation of Love already. 

It’s the ultimate one, meritorious of capitalisation. The ring sits heavy in his suitcase, buried under piles and piles of clothes. He doesn’t have the heart to lie to Mark when his boyfriend whispers reassurances to him, that nothing should be worrying when Jackson’s only ever been the best son his parents could’ve asked for. _So what if you haven’t called in over a month?_ Mark says, running a doting hand through Jackson’s hair. It’s how Mark’s always comforted him, long before their drunken hookups could’ve solidified into this gorgeous thing they were now. 

He can’t tell Mark that he isn’t worried about his _parents_. His nerves burn and sizzle electricity at the ends in anticipation of _this_ , of cementing a future and not fucking it up somehow. This had to be perfect, Jackson had promised himself (and an early promise to future Mark too), it had to be Nicholas Sparks level of corny and amazing. 

Or decent enough for Mark to say yes and remember this moment for decades to come, at least. He sighs against his boyfriend’s lips, doesn’t close the distance just yet. Amber streams into the windows of his car, casting shadows on Mark’s skin and Jackson has to take all of this in, how he’s been promised an angel on Earth, glowing skin and a heart brimming with love for him, solely for him. 

“My beautiful, wonderful baby,” is his reply to Mark instead, grinning lazily into their kiss, wiping faint confusion from Mark’s features. He deepens it just for a few long seconds, nips Mark’s bottom lip to draw a hungry whine before pulling away. 

“Come, now. We’ve got family to meet.” 

  


* * *

  


There is nothing extraordinary about this. It’s been five hours since Jackson’s arrival and although his mother had insisted, like she always (kindly, predictably, amusedly) does, to cook for her son and her son’s favourite friend turned boyfriend, Jackson had managed to tie her to a chair after all, letting Mark keep her occupied with big town gossip instead. 

They’ve done this before - Jackson and Mark were sixteen when this had become their routine, long before any strange, convoluted, gut wrenching feelings and lips to skin. Mark and his mother would gossip about _everything_ under the sun, from the new transfer kid to Jackson’s brother leaving his mark all over the Southern Hemisphere to Jackson _himself_ , the poor boy, who’d just pop his head out from the kitchen for an outrageous yelp of, “I can hear you, you know!”, to which they’d just nod distractedly and return to aimless chatter. 

It’s silver needle noodles and char siu for dinner tonight, recipes Jackson had perfected from his grandmother’s cookbooks over the years. That’s when their doorbell rings tellingly of his father’s arrival and age has nothing to do with how childishly _elated_ Jackson is at the sound of it. He’s all but skidding across the house in his mother’s age old floral apron to yank the door open, scream in delight and fling himself into his father’s arms. 

“You’re back!” Jackson grins from ear to ear. 

And with the same wolfishness, his father offers him an exaggerated head tilt. “And you’re back too!” 

Both of them giggle hysterically while mother and boyfriend look on fondly. They allow the boys a proper exchange of greetings, Wang Senior to inspect his son and tut at how he needs more food in that belly of his, for him to pause dramatically and finally ask where the bloody hell was that magical aroma coming from for _surely_ , his mother hadn’t travelled all the way from Hong Kong to cook for him tonight? 

”Yeah, can we please eat?” His wife groaned out loud. “It’s all your son’s handiwork and I’m sure all of us here are starving.” 

She looks over at Mark for confirmation and he’s an obedient boy. He nods furiously, patting his stomach. “Very hungry.”

Son wrenches free from father to disappear into the kitchen again. There’s noisy bustle to cover the table in cutlery, a quick order to the nearby bakery for some egg tarts because Jackson Wang wasn’t _that_ talented of a cook and good food was very deserving of an equally good dessert. 

  


* * *

  


Mark’s lips against his throat feel nothing short of debauched. It’s five minutes to midnight, Audrey Hepburn’s voice their background music, theatre seats groaning under duress. 

This is tradition, Jackson thinks fondly, strong hands tugging Mark closer and closer until the only thing between them is a sliver of space and the thin cotton of their shirts. They’ve done this before, in several awkward variations, with caps and basketball shorts instead of well fitted shirts and tight, incredibly hot trousers. Mark’s have taunted him all night long and he’s got permission to grope to his heart’s content now so he _does_ , unrestrained, punching a choked moan from his boyfriend’s throat. 

There’s nobody around to spy on them. They’ve long abandoned feigning worry over someone catching them - it turns Mark on, it turns _him_ on and you know you’ve reached a cozy place with your soulmate when perverse admissions are awfully easy. Jackson’s known for years anyway - his arm tightens around Mark’s waist, drawing his lips to Mark’s jaw now, worrying skin until it’s blooming with Jackson’s ownership. 

There’s a crash from the speakers, commotion onscreen and the only other occupants in the theatre hall is an elderly couple seated far, far away. It’s way past their bedtime, Mark had grinned earlier, and Jackson’s a bit of a goner. All he’d murmured in return was, “I can’t wait to get there with you,” and that had Mark blushing like a fool instead. 

It’s easy to admit now - everything Jackson is and everything he wants to be is Mark Tuan’s. There’s yearning to belong to him forever, always has, but they’ve struggled with their feelings for far too long for the ache to wholly dissipate. He can compensate for seven lost years with seventy promised ones. It’s the least they deserve, isn’t it? 

They describe love with streaks of white lightning, of falling and falling until reaching the bottom. Of the past flying by like screenshots, of vipers of warmth curling around their wrists and ankles, binding them as one. Of soaring and flying and the comfort of each other’s arms their only solace. 

And it’s only with Mark Tuan. They were stupid and confused at seventeen to break away while their friends continued to stay strong. It’s one thing to lose your boyfriend but a whole different story when he’s your best friend too, your soulmate in every definition of the word, and it felt like returning home when they're reunited several torturous years later. 

The past is inconsequential when he’s got Mark forever now. This masterpiece of a man, who just snuggles closer and whimpers noisily until Jackson continues his marks down Mark’s neck, devouring every exposed inch of skin. There’s a hasty shuffle for a few impatient beats and Mark’s gasp of pleasure is hot - Jackson wraps his hand around Mark’s hard length, stroking him, letting Mark thrust into his fist. He smells sweat and musk and caramel popcorn, hears Mark’s strangled moans and feels his arousal all over, crawling under his clothes and scorching him hyperaware. 

He’s achingly hard when Mark comes all over his fingers. Jackson’s boyfriend is an awful tease - he draws Jackson’s fingers to his mouth, licks every digit clean, tasting him while looking at Jackson through lowered lashes. 

He sinks to his knees then, unbuttoning Jackson’s trousers, and he feels deliriously, achingly young again. 

Mark hasn’t done this before though. He hasn’t kissed love into Jackson’s thighs amongst the very seats they used to clumsily fuck against at seventeen. 

He swallows Jackson’s cock with animalistic vigour then, and Jackson thrusts his hips into fuming heat, doing that over and over again until tears burn Mark’s eyes and he’s spilling his come down Mark’s throat. 

“C’mere,” he whispers once it’s all done, tugging Mark into his lap again. Their clothes are a crumpled mess, he tastes himself on Mark’s tongue when they kiss but nothing else matters now. Mark stays coiled in his lap, Jackson murmurs affection against his lips and they stay like that until it’s time to leave. 

  


* * *

  


All sorts of appetites sated, it only makes sense to dive into the night like this. It’s a short drive to the soccer grounds, one of Jackson’s mixtapes filling in gaps of silence. They don’t need to talk much and it’s comfortable - Jackson’s free hand finds Mark’s at one point and he draws their entwined fingers to his lips, peppering kisses to knuckles before focussing on the road again. 

Mark blushes at that and Jackson just grins. 

When they arrive, it doesn’t take long for them to hunt down an abandoned soccer ball. Jackson has one in the car just in case but _this_ is what they’ve done before, stealing soccer balls for late night rendezvouses only to return them to the field a week later. 

It’s different now, though. They’re in button downs and dress shoes and it’s cold enough in California now for them to feel the chill through their clothes. It’s still nice, a different take on everything Jackson Wang and Mark Tuan, and when Mark manages to sneak past _another_ foul goal, Jackson can’t stay biased any longer.

It’s 4-0 when he abandons all rules of the game - he wrenches the ball from the grass to fling it over the fence, earning a surprised bark of laughter from his boyfriend. He turns on him slowly, eyes narrowed and Mark _knows_ \- he’s quick to run before Jackson makes any move to chase him around and it’s yelping and shouting across the field, boots smashing against the ground until Jackson finally catches up to him, dragging Mark by the wrist towards him before pushing him to the soil, bracing the impact with a pre-emptive arm under Mark’s back and a hand under his head.

Mark screams through peals of laughter, weakly attempting to shove Jackson aside but his boyfriend’s bigger, he’s stronger. Jackson just pins him to the ground, adrenaline drawing giggles from him too. He muffles them until Mark’s cheek, arms wrapping around Mark in a makeshift embrace and they stay like that until their hearts aren’t thrumming anymore, until Mark’s hand snakes down his back and feels the boxy lump in Jackson’s pocket. 

There’s a hitch in Mark’s breath and he goes still underneath him. 

Jackson doesn’t pull away entirely. He just shifts around until his thighs are bracketing Mark’s hips instead. He watches as Mark props himself onto his elbows, still caged under his boyfriend but he doesn’t move further than that.

Jackson needs to breathe. Everything else is a haze, Mark the epicentre of his focus and Mark has to place an encouraging hand on Jackson’s thigh for Jackson to dig into his back pocket, coil his fingers around the velvet box. 

“I…I had this whole speech prepared,” he laughs nervously, shrugging in admittance. He’s awfully sheepish, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip and Mark laughs too. Jackson only meets his gaze when Mark’s hand meets his own now, giving it a light squeeze. 

“I never thought we’d get another chance, you know that.” He feels tears on his cheeks already and Jackson widens his eyes in surprise, trying to blink them away. “We talk about this a lot and sometimes…God, I’m sure you’re tired of me saying this but - I’m really fucking glad we did, Mark.” 

He has to pause, give Mark’s hand a squeeze before proceeding. 

“I’m glad you’re my whole world again, I’m so fucking glad we’re better now. I’m…fuck, you’re back here with me, having dinner with my parents and blowing me at Andy’s and playing soccer with me like we’re seventeen again and it’s just a testament to how we’re still the same, you know?” 

He slides down Mark’s legs for this, pulls Mark into his lap instead and needs to kiss his boyfriend’s hands now so he _does_ , slow and reverent. “You’re still my best fucking friend, you’re still my mother’s favourite Chinese boy in the whole goddamn town, we’re still _us_ , just slighter older and a little less scared. And…fuck, I thought I was terrified for this but I’m _not_ , Mark, I don’t think I’m scared at all now. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, aren’t I, so how the fuck could I be scared? I can’t, not when you’re here to protect me.” 

He brushes a knuckle against Mark’s cheekbone, collecting rolls of tears and acceptance, voice wavering. “And I’m here to protect you.” 

The box is still in his hands, his boyfriend’s still in his lap. He manages to pop it open with little grace, with awkward exhales of laughter and it’s his a simple sapphire ring, his grandfather’s to his grandmother. It gleams in the moonlight, it holds everything Jackson Wang holds dear to his heart. 

“Marry me,” he says in the space between them, fierceness in his eyes when they lock with Mark’s. “Marry me and be mine forever, Mark Tuan.” 

“I am,” is his croaked response, barely audible but Jackson catches it. They’re both crying but it doesn’t fucking matter, not when their hearts thump in synchrony, not when they’re moments away from entering a whole new world together. “I _am_ , Jackson, I-I’ve always been yours, always - _yes_ , God, yes, I love you -“ 

And Jackson crashes their lips together, smiling into their kiss before laughing into it, all tears and giddiness, kissing until their lips are swollen and there’s no saltwater to taste anymore. They’re truant schoolboys again, kissing ferociously under moonlight but there’s pure promise in lingering touches, in the coiling of limbs. 

It’s not sealed yet, Jackson remembers faintly only when Mark pulls away for an intake of breath, and it’s nervous giggling all over again. They’re only first timers, jittery and hopeful, and the ring slides onto Mark’s finger, locking around flesh for years and years to come. 

“I love you,” it’s from one to another and it’s whispered back, drowning in heat and kisses, “I love you too.” Jackson Wang kisses Mark Tuan as fiancés now and it’s a maddening, distracting thing - his fiancé, his fucking husband when the time comes - and there’s nothing else to do now except get lost in the feeling, mould his body with Mark’s, stay together as one until intoxication fades away and the reality of it pushes them off the grass. It’s still McKenzie after all these years, waggling his cane at today’s shameless youth, yelling nothing but displeasure until they’re out of sight, giggling into the seats of Jackson’s car the way they did when they were seventeen. 

Jackson sighs, kisses his fiancé’s cheek before driving them home.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me @ mistletoejjp <3


End file.
